Let it be a lie
you seek in a mischievous night
when the closest soul is tainted
with bloody roses
love him
or yourself,
not the ideology of green grass
on a perfect soil
rooted to your liking
each blade cuts you subtly
when the wind blows hardest
you are wary of the sun, light
day,
which carries away the fantasy
of a conscious mind
and a broken heart
that weigh down the world
uncharted by truth
the lack thereof
is taken,
given away
kept in a human form.

There is a somewhat metaphysical realm where we meet, despite distance, untainted by the realities that make imagination untenable. A world of addictive possibilities and ephemeral sustenance. Like the entelechy of élan vital it portrays evolutional principles incarnate tenacities. Despite it's temporal and transient nature it is the essence of social contiguities permanence. I love the spiritualism of this piece. That we might rise above the rationalities of realism and experience the surreal integrities of intellect's compunction. The phallic actualities of our corporeally preternatural souls. Not that we can entirely discount the tenets of prophylaxis's protocols for indeed we are animal, but spirit can definitely have its integrities.